


Mother's Day

by orphan_account



Series: Mother's Day series [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Fluff, Gen, Kid!Fic, M/M, Magic Revealed, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mother's Day is hard for the young prince of Camelot, especially since it's on his birthday.<br/>This is a canon era AU. Merlin and Arthur are eight and nine, and this is just a little bit of shenanigans etc. that I came up with while wondering how Arthur might spend Mother's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd! And written in one sitting. You have been warned.
> 
> I'm blown away by the attention this little fic got on LJ, and it has become the start of a WIP series.

Gwen’s voice rang out loud and clearly between the trees of the forest.

“ _Once there was handsome prince, whose name was Arthur Pendragon. He was the bravest man who ever lived, and he protected his people from all harm. He fought dragons, bandits and evil sorcerers, killing them all with a single stroke of his mighty sword. Arthur’s noble heart won the love of many fair ladies, but the most beautiful of all was Princess Ellyn. Her hair was long, and her eyes were the loveliest shade of pure blue. Her father was an awful tyrant, and he locked her in a tall tower, then threw away the key. Princess Ellyn was guarded by three hideous wyverns, and an army of six giant wilddeoren. Ever fearless, Prince Arthur fought them all, and one by one they fell dead at his feet. When Ellyn was finally safe, Arthur rushed to her tower to proclaim his love._ ”

Throwing himself down on to one knee, Arthur said his piece, “Fair maiden, you have conquered my heart! I beg you, please, extend to me your hand in marriage.”

“Good sir, I-- I-- Achoo!” Merlin sneezed, and his pink pointed hat slid down over his eyes. The pollen in the forest had been playing havoc with his allergies all morning, and he’d been holding back that sneeze for Gwen’s whole speech.

“ _Merlin_!” Arthur whined, chucking his sword (which was actually just a big stick) on the floor and pouting. “You ruined it! Again!”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin pulled off his pink hat and crumpled it in his hand, making Gwen squeak in distress. “The trees are making my nose tingle.”

“I don’t care! Princesses don’t sneeze at princes,” Arthur huffed, clambering to his feet and putting his hands on his hips.

“Well then, why can’t I just tell the story? At least Gwen’s a girl!” Merlin pointed at Gwen, demonstrating his point, and she curtseyed towards Arthur, beaming.

“I don’t care!” Arthur shouted, barely even glancing in Gwen’s direction. “She’s a  _servant_ , she can’t be a princess.”

“I wish I was a servant,” Merlin grumbled, kicking the floor. Neither he or Arthur took any notice of Gwen, who was trying to explain that she wasn’t a servant yet, just a maid-in-training.

“This game’s boring, anyway,” Merlin carried on, testing how far he could push Arthur. “Let’s do something  _fun_. Fighting dragons and going on stupid quests is... utter piffle!”

“Piffle?” Arthur looked at Merlin as if he was crazy -- which he probably was.

“Yeah, nonsense.”

They pulled faces at each other. Gwen spoke up hesitantly, trying to break the tension. “We could go back to my house? Father’s got this new bench and--”

“No, I don’t think so,” Arthur cut across her. “Merlin and I have to collect flowers for mother.”

Merlin pushed Arthur’s arm roughly, “She’s not  _your_  mother, she’s mine!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to say I don’t have a mother on Mother’s Day, am I?” Arthur pushed Merlin back with more force, and he landed in the mud. “That’s just  _sad_.”

They both giggled, neither seeming to realise that Arthur had just described exactly how Gwen spent every Mother's Day. Merlin scrambled to his feet and dusted the mud off his backside. Waving a lazy goodbye to Gwen, the two boys scuttled off into the forest. She gazed after them, all of a sudden missing her own mother very much, and wishing she’d gone to the meadow with Lancelot instead.

*

“It’s my birthday today,” Arthur informed Merlin as they pulled up handfuls of forget-me-nots at the foot of the castle wall. “I’m nine!”

“I know, Arthur. Your birthday’s on Mother’s Day every year.” Merlin muttered, distracted by a large piece of earth which was refusing to detach itself from the roots of one of his flowers.

“Father made it like that on purpose,” Arthur explained, bending his knees and using both hands to pull at a particularly stubborn plant. “He says I have to remember what my mother sacrificed for me.”

With one especially powerful tug, Arthur dislodged the plant. He also managed to lose his balance, and fall flat on his back in the grass. Merlin snorted with laughter, but Arthur kicked his legs in the air and stretched his arms out wide -- making it look as though lying down had been his plan all along.

Merlin dropped his flowers in a pile beside Arthur, and flopped down next to him. They grappled silently for a few minutes, tossing bits of twig and leaf back and forth -- aiming for each other’s face. Of course, Arthur had far better aim, and quickly grew bored of the game. He half-heartedly knocked his foot against Merlin’s, and then carried on speaking as though there hadn’t been a break at all.

“I like being nine, it’s far superior to being  _eight_.”

“I’m eight!” Merlin kicked Arthur’s foot as payback.

“I know, and I feel sorry for you. Being nine is  _so_  much better! You’re still a baby at eight, really.”

“There’s only a few months between us,” Merlin mumbled. “And besides, mother says the only reason you were born first is because the fairies loved me so much, they wanted to keep me a little longer.”

Arthur snorted with laughter, “The  _fairies_?”

“Shut up!” Merlin was pouting again. “You’re just a prat, and they knew it, so they kicked you out early.”

Still laughing a little, Arthur’s mind wandered back to when he and Merlin had both met, aged five (well, Merlin had been five,  _Arthur_  was five and a half). He remembered being pushed towards this scared, skinny little boy with dark hair and blue eyes. They’d considered each other at great length, tilting their heads to either side as Gaius and Hunith talked in hushed voices on the other side of the room. Merlin was Gaius’ nephew, and therefore not quite a peasant, but not quite a noble either. Arthur had been smacked around the head enough times to know that treating Gaius or any of his relations like a servant was not an option.

“Merlin, why did you come here?” Arthur asked, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt. Now he thought about it, it was odd he’d never asked before.

“Because of a boy called Will.” Merlin answered awkwardly.

“What did he do?” Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin through the grass.

Merlin carried on staring at the sky, taking his time to reply. “He was my best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“You are! I mean, he was my best friend before... before I met you.”

Arthur relaxed a little, the frightening prospect of caring about someone more than they cared about him passing as quickly as it’d come. “So... what did Will do?”

“He just-- he noticed stuff. I told him too much.”

“Nobody tells me anything,” Arthur frowned at the blue sky again, feeling small and stupid.

“I tell you things,” Merlin squeaked beside him.

Arthur made a disbelieving noise, “Like what?”

“Like that fairy thing!”

“That was a stupid thing to tell me, Merlin. I mean nobody tells me anything that matters.” His father got to talk about  _important_  things, like wars and borders and whatever a ‘purge’ was. Arthur just had to keep out of the way. It wasn’t fair -- after all, he’d be king one day too.

They lay in silence for a while longer, until Arthur decided this was even more boring than throwing things at a submissive Merlin, and sat up.

“Come on,” he ordered, only a small part of him actually expecting Merlin to obey. “Let’s take these flowers to mother.”

*

Feasts were quite possibly the dullest affairs to ever grace Arthur’s halls (or, technically, his  _father’s_  halls). Usually court jesters kept things bearable by making flowers appear out of goblets, or teasing visiting nobles’ ridiculous beards. Arthur dreamed of one day having jesters perform at his birthday feast. He would demand to hear the songs with the dirtiest words, and laugh as everybody but himself was made to look a fool.

In the end, a dream was all that could be. Mourning his wife’s death was far more important to the king than celebrating his son’s life, so the Mother’s Day feast was always silent and morbid. The only occasional sound was that of a maid shushing Arthur, or slapping his wrist when he fidgeted. This year, Arthur was especially restless. He tapped his knife on the side of his goblet, trying in vain to replicate one of his favourite jester’s tunes. The young prince of Camelot was not above the hope of one day striking up an impromptu chorus, and watching the entire court burst into song.

 _When I’m king_ , Arthur scowled ruefully,  _I’ll throw the best feasts in Albion_.

Arthur’s impatience finally paid off, because the king called a maid over, whispered something angry and unpleasant into her ear, and she rushed Arthur out of the Great Hall without another word. Ushering him into his chambers, she made to help him undress, but he stopped her.

“Are you aware of the fact it’s my birthday today?” he asked in his haughtiest princely tone.

“Yes, I am.”

Arthur noticed how the maid neglecting to call him ‘sire’ when they were alone. It made him want to sulk, but he was too proud for that -- too  _grown up_.

“In that case, you must know that I’m nine years old now.” He may have been too old to sulk, but nobody was ever too old to snap at servants.

“Yes.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, praying for strength. “That means I am a man, so I can prepare for bed by myself.”

The maid furrowed her brow, but made no reply.

“You may leave,” Arthur waved his hand dismissively towards the door. The maid seemed confused, but she wasted no time in hurrying out.

Congratulating himself on his own authority, Arthur turned towards his empty chambers. Without the presence of another, the room suddenly felt very large and cold, but he was old enough to deal with this by himself. He was ready.

However, just because he was  _ready_  it didn’t mean Arthur wasn’t a little on edge. When he heard a knock at the door, he froze, staring at it. Perhaps an assassin had snuck into Camelot, intent on murdering a sleeping prince. Maybe it was a rogue griffin which had somehow evaded the guards and sniffed out the youngest, tenderest flesh in the castle. Arthur gulped, maybe it was his father, coming to shout at him for behaving so appallingly at the feast. Arthur was a walking, talking disappointment, after all.

“Psst!” he heard through the cracks in the door. Alright, fine, not a griffin.

“Arthur? Let me in.” And if it was an assassin, he was clearly the  _worst_  assassin in history.

“Erm, hello?” Arthur called nervously, not moving from his strategic position (peering suspiciously out from behind the table).

“It’s Merlin! Open up, quick, before someone comes.”

Arthur sighed, relieved to find it was someone far more likely to be killed by him than to do the killing themselves. He ran across his chambers and yanked open the door, to be faced with a grinning Merlin.

“How was the feast?” Merlin asked at once.

“Same as usual -- depressing, and completely devoid of presents.”

Merlin caught hold of Arthur’s arm, and winked at him. “Come with me, then. I’ve got something to show you.”

“Now?” Arthur glanced out of his bedroom window -- it was almost pitch black outside, and far past his bedtime. “But it’s got to be at least ten o’ clock!”

Merlin shrugged, and nodded towards the empty corridor behind him. “No one’s about. It’ll be fine. Seriously.”

“If father finds out about this, I’m taking you down with me.” Arthur warned, following Merlin out into the cold stone passageway and pulling his chamber door closed behind him.

They scampered through the empty castle corridors, unable to stifle their giggles. They were doing something totally forbidden, and getting away with it. Arthur decided he  _definitely_  liked being nine better than being eight.

After a lot of whispering and hiding in alcoves, they reached the tapestry at the far eastern corner of the castle. Behind this was their secret passageway, and they’d been using it to get in and out of the Camelot without being seen for months. It came out at the foot of the eastern wall, quite near where they’d collected flowers that afternoon.

*

Arthur climbed up between the metal bars of the grate first, and twirled around in the exhilarating blackness. He’d never been out of Camelot this late at night, except once or twice while travelling to a distant kingdom, and then he’d been forced to stay tucked up inside a carriage. Merlin squirmed out of the grate behind him, and led the way to a small pile of twigs and leaves a short distance from the enormous stone walls.

They sat together, cross-legged on the brink of the hill, and stared out into the night. Darkness washed over them, making the stars above shine brighter than Arthur had ever seen them. He’d never seen the night sky like this before, and he thought it looked like a blanket of fireflies.

“What are they?” Arthur asked quietly. His voice disappeared into the nothingness around them, and Merlin followed his gaze upwards.

“My father,” he said softly. Arthur looked over, and saw a hundred sparkles of light reflected in Merlin’s blue eyes. They twinkled against his pale skin as he turned to face Arthur again. “It’s my father watching over me.”

For a moment, it looked as though Merlin might cry. Arthur couldn’t understand why -- at least he knew where his lost parent was.

Without a word, Arthur looped his arm through Merlin’s, holding onto him tightly, and rested his blonde head on Merlin’s bony shoulder. He had to wriggle around before finding a comfortable position, but it was worth it.

They both looked up at the stars again. Arthur frowned, there were hundreds of shining points of light up there, surely it couldn’t all be one man?

“Merlin,” he whispered at last, “do you think my mother could be up there too?”

This time, he didn’t meet Merlin’s eyes.

“I guess so,” Merlin answered slowly. “Mother never mentioned her when she talked about father, but I’m sure he’d be happy to share some stars -- they can watch over us better if they’re together.”

Tears burned in Arthur’s eyes, and he rubbed them angrily with his fist. There was no way he’d cry in front of Merlin. He wasn’t a  _girl_.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Arthur cleared his throat, still ignoring the dampness beneath his eyes.

“Not exactly,” Merlin bit his lip, and shook his shoulder so that Arthur lifted his head and met his gaze. “I thought about what you said -- about nobody telling you anything -- and I trust you, Arthur.” Merlin drew a deep breath, “Do you remember what I said about Will?”

Arthur nodded.

“Well, he was my best friend, and he knew about this, and now you’re my best friend, so it’s really only fair...”

Arthur let go of Merlin’s arm and shifted on the grass. “What is it? Hurry up, Merlin, I’m cold.”

With a feeble smile, Merlin turned his gaze to the pile of twigs and leaves in front of them. Arthur followed suit, utterly perplexed. He watched Merlin raise a shivering hand, and the dimmest glow of gold lit the night. All of a sudden, the twigs before them burst into flame. It was a small, timid fire, but a  _fire_  nonetheless.

“How did you--” Arthur stammered, jumping backwards and staring at Merlin in shock. “Why can’t I do that?”

A giggle broke free of Merlin’s lips, and he reached over to grab Arthur’s knee. “I... I can do m-magic, Arthur. I was born with it.”

Arthur carried on staring at him, wide-eyed with wonder, but he edged forwards until they were sitting side by side again. After a minute or two, he spoke uneasily, “Father says magic is evil.”

Merlin flinched a little, but he had a retort ready for Arthur. “Mother says fairies deliver babies. Parents aren’t always right.”

“You believed her, though!” Arthur laughed before he could help himself, because that really was one of the weakest arguments he’d ever heard.

“So?” Merlin pushed Arthur’s arm, annoyed. “You believed your father.”

Arthur gazed into the fire, and then back at Merlin. He didn’t think Merlin was evil, not by any stretch of the imagination. The soppy git had been upset when Arthur stamped on a spider last week -- clearly not the makings of a vicious overlord.

“Alright,” Arthur murmured. “I’ve decided you’re not evil. You can’t do any magic any more, though, okay?”

The grin that had momentarily spread across Merlin’s face dropped again. “Why not?”

“Because it’s bad.”

“You just said--”

“I said  _you’re_  not evil, Merlin, but magic’s still forbidden. I don’t want someone to kill you.”

“Oh,” Merlin made a face, processing this. After a few minutes, he started grinning. “So you want me to stop using magic, because you don’t want me to die?”

Arthur sighed, “Yes, Merlin. That’s right.”

Merlin’s grin broadened. “Arthur, am I your best friend?”

Feeling a blush coming on, Arthur thanked goodness for the darkness. “Erm, yeah, I guess you are.”

Suddenly, Arthur found himself pinned to the ground by an ecstatic Merlin, receiving a rib-crushing hug. “Ow! Merlin!” He rasped, fighting the skinny little thing off.

When they sat up again, Merlin was still beaming from ear to ear. The low light of the flames danced in his eyes, and he seemed to make an abrupt decision. Arthur watched as Merlin turned back towards the fire, and poked at it with a nearby stick.

Sparks leapt into the air, and Merlin leaned forward, raising his hand again.

“Merlin! Are you doing magic again?” Arthur crawled onto his knees, and pushed in beside Merlin, staring into the flames.

The sparks rose slowly into the air, and as Merlin’s hand passed over them, they swirled to form shapes. Arthur squinted at them, not quite sure if he was reading the words right -- he still wasn’t the best with his letters, especially when they were scrawled in Merlin’s messy handwriting.

“I... love... you...” he read slowly, and then felt his heart skip a beat as he realised what he’d said.

The sparks floated away into nothing, and all that was left was Merlin staring at Arthur, suddenly looking incredibly shy. Was he expecting him to return the gesture? If fairy tales had taught Arthur anything, it was that love was a tricky thing, and shouldn’t be engaged in lightly. Especially by handsome princes.

“You can’t love me,” he told Merlin at last.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a prince, and only  _princesses_  love princes. You’re not a princess, Merlin.”

“I am! I was a princess this morning!”

They’d argued over whether or not Merlin was a princess before, but never this way around. If Merlin hadn’t looked so serious, Arthur would probably have started teasing him mercilessly. “Well... You weren’t a very good one.”

Merlin punched Arthur in the leg, and Arthur punched him back. They started tussling in the grass. Arthur was winning until he accidentally stuck his foot in the fire.

He cursed loudly, and Merlin snorted with laughter.

“That’s not very ladylike,” Arthur jibed, but Merlin only stuck out his tongue.

If he hadn’t been so preoccupied by his injured foot, it might not have taken Arthur so long to notice Merlin crawling towards him, and pressing a light kiss against his cheek.

“Next time,” Arthur muttered as he collapsed into his bed half an hour later, “I’ll show him. I’ll kiss his lips, and see how  _he_  likes it.”


End file.
